


Nothing and Everything

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Feelings, Friendship, Gen, Memories, finally being at peace, post-death musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: In which Mollymauk drifts in the place between life and death, dreams and drifts, and finds peace.





	Nothing and Everything

Where he is, wherever that may be, there is darkness. There is nothing. Some, some who may have lived a long life and are ready for rest, might call it peace. It’s empty. It’s neither black nor white, and yet it’s dark. There’s nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to touch or smell, and despite the fact that others might find that comforting…nothing has never comforted him. At least, in this life, he had never been comfortable with nothing.

His mind is empty, like the space that surrounds him. He’s aware of his body, or thinks he is, but can’t quite recall what it was like to live in a corporeal form. There should be things there: memories, sensations, feelings. And yet…

He drifts. Time has no meaning. There’s nothing to think, nothing to be, and nothing to want. He wanted before. In those moments before this, he’s sure, that he wanted. He wanted so very much. But those wants mean nothing now. Nothing means everything and yet not anything at all anymore.

Then…there’s something. In the colorless and shapeless expanse there’s something. It’s so much. It’s everything. It’s everything from before or hence.

It’s the feeling of cold where there was none before. It’s the memory of his body. It’s the feeling of rain soaking into his clothes, the feeling of boots not yet broken in, the feeling of skin on skin, but it’s not the same as before. It’s the memory of a feeling. It’s a ghost, like he’s a ghost now.

It’s the smell of stale beer, the smell of flowers and books, the smell of perfume. It’s the smell of horses. It’s the smell…the smell of dirt. The smell of earth. It’s so strong. It’s strong enough that he wonders of a ghost can smell things so clearly.

It’s the sound of battle. It’s the sound of swords swinging, magic crackling, fists hitting flesh. It’s the sound of fireworks. It’s laughter. It’s the creaking of a wagon on the road. It’s singing so sweet it’s like to melt your heart. The sounds make his ears pound. How is there so much sound in all this nothing? And can he stand to listen to it?

It hurts.

Had it always hurt so much? Did it hurt so badly to live? Life had always been entirely too much, but now…after nothing, it seems unbearable. Everything is entirely too much and not at all enough at the same time. He wants again, even if it hurts. Even if it’s too much. He wants it. He longs for it so much it feels as though his soul is dying.

He wants to see Jester, so bright and wonderfully chaotic, stuffing pastries into her pink bag and talking about the Traveller. He wants to see Beau, strong and brash, kick ass and take every name in the book. He wants to see Caleb, gentle and shy Caleb, morph from the anxious and unsure man that he is to someone confident and proud. He wants to see Nott, scattered and secretive, and share a drink from her flask. He wants to see Fjord, dark and as mysterious as himself, and have another hundred nights sharing a room in some shitty tavern. He even wants to see the damned bird child again. Kiri was too young to be subjected to him, so he tried not to influence her too much. Yet he wants to see her too. And Yasha…

Yasha. His beautiful, strong, resilient Yasha. His friend. Best friend. His constant, even if her presence wasn’t. He wants to see her press flowers into her journal. He wants to see her growl and heft a sword in rage. He wants to see the little kind of private smile that she reserves for when she thinks no one is looking.

His chest aches, if he even has a chest. His eyes feel hot and wet. It’s like he can’t get a breath at all. The smell of the earth permeates his senses, the feel of cold earth chills his skin, and the sounds…they’re quiet. Muffled.

He hears a scream and it cuts through the darkness. He sees, truly sees, as though he were looking down at his friends. Anguish all round. Tears. He feels Yasha’s pain like it’s his own. He feels all their pain like it’s his own. It…

It  _hurts_.

And then, in a flash, he remembers. There’s pain and shouting and fear. There’s the taste of blood in mouth. He had spat at Lorenzo, hadn’t he? He had.

It hurts to remember. But he does remember, and the earth is a little warmer. Softer. Better. He’s tired. So tired. Maybe…maybe he can rest.

The darkness is coming again, but it’s welcome now. The sounds and smells fade, but he hears one last voice. Its not one he remembers, but it’s deep and soothing. It pulls at his heart, and maybe he can sleep.

_“I made the earth remember him.”_


End file.
